


The Musain's seen more sex than most people's bedrooms

by Tyrion_Lannister



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, Sexual Tension, grantaire just doesn't care about social norms, handjobs, kind of established relationship, semi-public sex?, slightly subtaire, topjolras, yeah this is just porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:39:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyrion_Lannister/pseuds/Tyrion_Lannister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An anon over on Tumblr requested Enjolras/Grantaire, with Grantaire sexually frustrating Enjolras during a meeting. </p><p>That's it, that's the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Musain's seen more sex than most people's bedrooms

“So you see, the government’s plans for welfare cuts are truly barbaric, it’s just that most people in this country either don’t care or don’t realise because of the media spin. You can’t pick up a newspaper or even turn on the television anymore without hearing about ‘benefit scroungers’ cheating the system. They’re turning citizen against citizen, talking about ‘the honest working-class’ as if they’re on their side while cutting public spending and giving tax breaks to the rich and ridiculous bonuses to the bankers. And all in the name of austerity.”

Enjolras strode across the back room of the Café Musain, his long-suffering hair coming loose from its braid and sticking uncomfortably to the back of his neck in the humidity of the uncharacteristically warm spring afternoon. Leaning forwards, he reached for the stack of papers in his bag with one hand while unbuttoning the top button of his shirt with the other.

“Just look at these statistics. Combeferre, if you could pass these around the table?” The bespectacled man at his side nodded in mute acquiescence, taking the papers from his hand and dispatching them efficiently to the small group of people surrounding them. Enjolras shot his best friend a quick, grateful smile in response before gesturing emphatically at the figures. “Evidently, the official numbers show that the amount of people fraudulently claiming welfare is much smaller than what people believe. In fact, the money saved by people who don’t claim benefits that they’re entitled to actually exceeds the amount of money paid to those cheating the system. And all things considered, the taxpayer isn’t really spending much on welfare anyway, so the arguments used by the government and the media trying to incite their fury are, essentially, wholly based on lies and fanciful exaggerations.”

Enjolras paused for a second as he got into his stride, feeling the habitual quickening of his heartbeat that typically began when he reached the crux of his speeches, and moved closer to his friends, his hands tightening on the edge of the wooden table as he stared at them fiercely. He took them all in, one by one, hoping to make them feel the rush of passion that fanned the flames of revolution in his veins. Jehan, as usual, was enraptured, his chin resting on his palm as he steadily met Enjolras’s gaze. Courfeyrac, next to him, was musing over a copy of the local newspaper, frowning at the undoubtedly derogatory headline. Feuilly, Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet, all were paying attention, their expressions ranging from intense concentration to incensed displeasure. Grantaire, seated in the corner, was… quiet?

Enjolras blinked at the sudden realisation, taken aback by the unexpected silence. Thinking back on it, he’d been unusually calm all meeting, only speaking to cheerfully greet Bahorel and cuff him amicably over the back of his head, as was his custom. _Nothing out of the ordinary there, and he didn’t seem to be any drunker than normal._ But there had been no sarcastic interventions, no mocking comments, no ribald disagreements. Enjolras narrowed his eyes at Grantaire, his cocked blond head posing an unvoiced question. Grantaire met his eyes without the slightest sign of trepidation, taking note of Enjolras’s bemusement, and quirked the corners of his mouth up in a slow smirk, raising one shoulder slightly in an all-too-innocent shrug.

Enjolras’s frown deepened into a scowl, and he straightened up, far too busy to concern himself with the peculiar attitude of the group’s resident cynic. He meant to avert his gaze back to the rest of the group, but as he shuffled the papers in his hands and prepared himself for the next aspect of his speech, Grantaire sat up straighter, keeping his eyes fixed on Enjolras’s own, and slowly lifted his nearly-empty bottle back towards his mouth. For a brief second, Enjolras found himself inexplicably trapped by the other man’s smooth movement, unable to tear his eyes away from the tanned line of muscle in Grantaire’s bare forearm as it flexed. He stood still for a moment at the head of the table, watching Grantaire’s lips form a circle around the neck of the bottle, dark eyelashes fluttering softly against pronounced cheekbones as he tilted his head back to drink, and swallowed involuntarily at the pale line of his exposed throat.

“Enjolras?” He started and turned, feeling his cheeks redden under Combeferre’s concerned gaze.

“I’m fine, sorry. It’s just… hot in here today.” He looked away, abashed, catching sight of Grantaire’s sly smirk as he turned and fighting to suppress the combination of lust (unexpected) and irritation (entirely expected) that swirled in the pit of his stomach.

“ _Anyway_.” Enjolras cleared his throat, abruptly tossing his long blond hair back as if the gesture would rid his brain of the sudden influx of unwelcome thoughts. “As I was saying, the bitter attitude towards the less fortunate in this country is growing to be quite remarkable in recent months. In the current financial climate, people are becoming all too concerned with their own problems, and are showing a significant lack of compassion for their fellow men. It’s only right that we do all we can to stop this. None of us want to live in a world where it’s normal to strive for as much material wealth as one can accumulate while others _starve_.”

Enjolras concluded his argument with a disgruntled frown, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He knew he hadn’t been as compelling, as erudite as he wanted to be, and he was annoyed at himself, knowing that the reason for his distraction was currently in the process of ignoring the smoking ban somewhere to his left. “The People’s Assembly meets next week in the centre of town. We need to make signs, spread the word. Everyone’s angry right now; they just need somewhere to funnel that anger. And it needs to be focused on the lying, greedy politicians that govern us, rather than on the downtrodden working class.” As Enjolras finished up, he couldn’t quite stop himself from flicking his eyes back over to the corner, feeling slightly unnerved when he noticed that Grantaire’s eyes were still fixed on him, a glint of amusement and intrigue lurking in their translucent depths as his cheeks hollowed, lips tight around a lit cigarette. Enjolras’s eyes, almost involuntarily, dropped down to the dark-haired man’s mouth when he removed the cigarette with long artist’s fingers and licked his lips, his stare tracing the progress of the tip of Grantaire’s tongue as it swept over the chapped furrows that marred the soft pink skin.

Vaguely horrified, Enjolras kicked himself mentally, becoming uncomfortably aware that his thoughts had veered into entirely inappropriate Mills & Boon territory. Grantaire’s enigmatic smile seemed far too knowing, becoming wider and somehow more self-satisfied as he stubbed his cigarette out. Winking conspiratorially at Enjolras, Grantaire leaned back on the bench, his legs spreading wide as he slouched, and reached up to fan himself dramatically with one hand as he swiftly undid the top two – no, _three_ , Enjolras noted with some alarm – buttons of his shirt. There was a light sheen of sweat shining in the dip of his collarbone, and Enjolras felt his trousers become ever so slightly too snug as his eyes slowly moved from Grantaire’s face to his exposed chest, and down further to where the material of his jeans strained across his thighs. He felt rather than heard Grantaire’s low rumble of a laugh from across the room, but found himself rapidly losing the inclination to care.

This time, it was Courfeyrac who knocked him out of it, accidentally jostling him and apologising jovially as he moved past on his way to the bar. Enjolras breathed deeply for a moment, trying to regain his composure, then forced himself to calmly meet Grantaire’s eyes, aiming for indifference, before moving over to where Combeferre and Jehan were discussing the day’s agenda on the other side of the table. Sitting down, he folded his arms and squared his shoulders, affecting a cool nonchalance that he hoped didn’t come across as feigned.

For the next five minutes he almost succeeded in putting Grantaire out of his mind, focusing intently on the intricate details of the following week’s protest gathering. Joly joined their table to ask about the estimated number of people, hastily scribbling something about first aid onto a spare piece of paper, while Combeferre drafted a petition to the government, muttering calmly under his breath and pausing intermittently to push his glasses back up his nose. The clamour of his friends’ conversations assailed him, and Enjolras started to relax, back in his comfort zone. It wasn’t until Joly smiled at him distractedly and left to confer with Feuilly that Enjolras, alone save for a highly preoccupied Combeferre, glanced back over to Grantaire. He was still sitting in the corner by himself, fiddling with a beer mat. He looked up when Enjolras turned his leonine head in his direction, as if sensing the weight of his gaze, and reached into the battered rucksack that lay on the bench next to him, pulling out his mobile phone. Enjolras felt inexplicably apprehensive, noticing the insouciant smirk on Grantaire’s face, and jumped slightly when he felt his own phone vibrate in his jeans less than thirty seconds later. Shutting his eyes for a second and inclining his head upwards in a silent prayer for patience, he slid the offending device out of his pocket, unlocking it to read the text.

**R: i want to kneel underneath this table and suck your cock**

Enjolras froze in his chair, all the blood in his body deserting his brain and rushing south as he stared at the message on the screen. Before he could even begin to formulate an appropriate response, it vibrated again in his hand.

**R: would you like me to suck you off in front of everyone**

**R: or do you think that would be too risqué?**

Enjolras shoved the phone none too gently back into his pocket, feeling his face redden. Almost against his will, he raised his eyes once more to meet Grantaire’s, and promptly had to grip tightly onto the edge of the table to prevent himself from falling right off his chair.

Grantaire was reclining on the bench, one elbow propped on the table as he sprawled against the wall. His left hand was brazenly resting on the obvious bulge that tented the front of his jeans as he fixed his penetrating gaze on Enjolras, raising one eyebrow wickedly in an obvious challenge.

Enjolras felt his eyebrows fly up in response, helplessly aware that his usually impeccable composure was slipping. For a second, he thought he saw something resembling uncertainty flicker in the depths of Grantaire’s eyes, but in the time it took to pass a faltering hand over his damp forehead the dark-haired man’s unreadable smile had found its way back onto his face. With some effort, Enjolras tore his eyes away from the spectacle in front of him, peering nervously around him; somehow, nobody was taking any notice, being either absorbed in their own work or chatting at the bar. Enjolras swallowed and gave into the nagging temptation to look back, throwing all caution to the wind with a soft, exasperated groan. He took a deep breath and steeled his gaze, rising to Grantaire’s unspoken challenge as he allowed his piercing eyes to sweep languorously over the other man’s form, making a point to linger on his soft mouth and long neck before directing his stare downwards with a quirk of one perfectly arched eyebrow.

Grantaire’s hand, tanned and calloused, was lying palm down over his groin, one long finger casually stroking a tantalising line up the length of the bulge in his jeans. As Enjolras watched, Grantaire tightened his grip, _squeezing_ in a way that had Enjolras biting his lip to stifle a noise and discreetly pressing his palm against his own confined erection. Grantaire’s heavy-lidded eyes widened at the sight and his lips parted, his breath seeming to catch in his throat; Enjolras felt the huff of exhaled breath as if it were ghosting over his own pale flesh and barely succeeded in suppressing a shudder.

All of a sudden, Grantaire removed his hand, briefly slipping it under his waistband to readjust before getting to his feet. Enjolras felt a brief moment of alarm as Grantaire walked over, never entirely sure what the other man’s sexual limits actually were – or even if they existed in the first place – and not wanting to have an awkward situation to have to explain to his friends, seeing as the vast majority of them had no idea as to the true nature of the relationship between the leader and the cynic. Hell, even _Enjolras_ didn’t really know what was going on, just that they’d fucked a couple of times and liked it.

He breathed a sigh of relief – perhaps prematurely – as Grantaire slid behind him, dropping his large hands heavily onto Enjolras’s shoulders and pressing his thumbs into tense muscle. Aware of Combeferre’s proximity at the other side of the table, Enjolras dropped his head back to look Grantaire in the eye and murmured quietly, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m giving you a massage. You look stressed.” Grantaire’s smirk was evident in his voice and Enjolras made a half-hearted attempt at a scowl, relaxing under the other man’s powerful hands nevertheless. “This is hardly appropriate, R. Not here.”

“Oh, calm down, I’m hardly molesting you.” Grantaire’s hands left his shoulders, fingers trailing softly across the nape of Enjolras’s slender neck as he deftly undid the ribbon that held his braid in place. “And before you complain, your hair was getting messy, I’m just redoing it.”

Enjolras half-reluctantly submitted to Grantaire’s ministrations, still uncomfortably aware of the unremitting erection pressing almost painfully against the zipper of his jeans. Admittedly, Grantaire’s talented fingers sifting through and plaiting his long blond hair, tugging just hard enough to hurt, was _not_ helping the situation, and neither was the hardness he felt up against his back. Enjolras closed his eyes, mumbling “You torment me” under his breath as Grantaire swiftly retied his ribbon.

“That’s what I’m here for.” Grantaire smiled affectionately, then leaned down over Enjolras’s shoulder, the tip of his tongue flickering against the shell of Enjolras’s ear as he whispered into it, his voice slightly roughened from years of cigarettes and gruff laughter. “I’m guessing you won’t be done here for a while, so how about you meet me in the bathroom in five minutes.”

Enjolras sighed heavily, his eyes still shut, fiery arousal coiling in his belly. _Oh, what the hell_.

“Ok.” It was barely a whisper. Grantaire’s hand tightened on his shoulder for a brief second and then was gone. When Enjolras opened his eyes, he just caught sight of Grantaire’s burly form slipping out of the door.

A few minutes later, once Enjolras had successfully managed to will his erection down to a manageable size – difficult, considering that anticipation was thrumming in his veins and making his heart pound faster in his chest – he rose from his chair, avoiding Combeferre’s eyes as he smoothly stalked past him towards the door through which Grantaire had exited. He had scarcely made it into the bathroom before Grantaire was on him, pushing him into the only stall and latching frantically onto his mouth. Enjolras’s arousal returned in full force as he found himself with an armful of squirming Grantaire, all fire and passion and lithe gymnast’s muscles. He moaned into the frantic kiss, suddenly unable to wait any longer, and pushed Grantaire off of him, slamming him against the door and swiftly sliding the lock across. “You – absolute – fucking – _tease_ –”

His words were punctuated with harsh bites to the soft skin of Grantaire’s neck, leaving purple marks that would probably be visible once they returned to the back room of the café, but at that moment in time he just didn’t care, couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck. Grantaire laughed at the desperation of his actions, a deep sound that broke off into a ragged moan when Enjolras shoved a hand down the front of his jeans and wrapped it none too gently around his hard cock. It throbbed in his grip and Grantaire thrust his hips forwards involuntarily, whining high in his throat.

Enjolras removed his hand, smirking wickedly, cruelly, when Grantaire made a needy little noise in response, large blue eyes pleading as they looked up at him. “You wanted to get on your knees for me. If it’s important enough to distract me from my meeting…”

He left the sentence unfinished, satisfied at the sight of Grantaire scrambling to his knees in front of him, reaching up to undo Enjolras’s belt with shaking hands. He moaned, biting his lip to stifle the noise as Grantaire succeeded in pushing his jeans down his smooth, pale thighs and took him in hand, the roughness of his skin belying the tenderness with which he touched him. Enjolras’s knees buckled as Grantaire sucked him into his mouth, expert tongue tracing lines against the underside of his cock while his hands moved round to knead at Enjolras’s buttocks. “ _God_ – I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight, such a good boy…”

Grantaire whimpered around his erection, the cockiness from before all but gone as he bobbed his head up and down, taking Enjolras as far down as he could manage without choking. Enjolras fisted his hand in Grantaire’s unruly curls, waiting for Grantaire to go limp in a sign of acquiescence before thrusting hard into his mouth, careful not to push too hard. He moaned at the sensation of Grantaire’s soft, wet heat around him, and felt the familiar tightening that signified the approach of his orgasm. “Yeah, _fuck_ , are you ready for my come?” His voice, usually high and melodic, had deepened as a result of his arousal, now almost a growl.

Grantaire groaned in response, a dark sound of desire that vibrated around Enjolras’s cock, pushing him over the edge as he panted and moaned and spilled himself inside Grantaire’s mouth.

Enjolras only waited for a brief moment after his orgasm before hauling Grantaire to his feet and pressing him back against the door, attacking his swollen mouth. He slid one slender hand up Grantaire’s rumpled shirt to pinch roughly at a nipple, the other hand fumbling with the button of his trousers, a task made undoubtedly more difficult by Grantaire’s insistent erection straining against the taut fabric. Once accomplished, it took only a few short tugs before Grantaire was whimpering into Enjolras’s neck, entire body shuddering as he came in several powerful spurts over Enjolras’s hand.

They stayed in an exhausted post-coital embrace for another minute or two before Enjolras pulled back, grabbing a couple of tissues out of the dispenser with shaking hands. Once clean, he made to leave, opening the door only to be stopped by Grantaire leaning forwards to place a lingering kiss on Enjolras’s curved, feminine lips. For a moment they stood there, blue eyes meeting blue, on each face a different version of the same uncertain smile.

The spell was broken by a burst of raucous laughter from inside the café, and Enjolras broke away with one last wistful look at his lover. “We should probably get out there before they start wondering what’s going on.”

Grantaire nodded, his confident façade descending once again as he winked at Enjolras and glided out through the door. Enjolras stayed in the bathroom for a moment, considering his vaguely flushed face in the mirror with a rueful shake of his regal head, then followed suit. He was met with a slap on the back from Feuilly, an innuendo-laden cheer from Courfeyrac, and a long-suffering sigh from Combeferre. _Hmm._ _Perhaps their relationship wasn’t as secret as they’d thought_. Enjolras rolled his eyes at them loftily, finding that after all, he didn’t much mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This took me far too long to write and it's just barely been proofread, so I apologise for any errors. Find me at orestesgayandpyladesalsogay.tumblr.com :)


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